


Of Lunchtime and Idiots

by RigbylovesRugby



Series: Debilitating Stupidity [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Ron Weasley, I Feel bad for Percy, M/M, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Pansy's pretty cool, as usual, best read in series order, but not really, harry's an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RigbylovesRugby/pseuds/RigbylovesRugby
Summary: Harry never wanted to be Senior Under-Secretary to Minister Riddle, and he certainly wasn't qualified for it. But the Minister didn't care. The others in the Ministry, though... they weren't as forgiving.





	Of Lunchtime and Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta for being a huge help in this story! Honestly, I feel omega-ed in your presence.

On the first day of his new job, Harry took extra care to pick out the most out-of-fashion and disheveled clothes he owned. He picked out a lime green coat with faded constellation patterns and rainbow trousers. Dumbledore would be proud.

He had no idea what being Senior Under-Secretary consisted of. He was loath to ask Minister Riddle, the bastard was probably expecting him to come crawling for explanations. Still, the only reason he even knew about the position's existence before all this was because it was all Percy would talk about. Harry's mind lit up. Percy! He'd been Junior Under-Secretary for years; he had to know his superior's job description by now. Just as he resolved to ask him as soon as he could, Harry heard his front door open.

"Do you think he left already?" he heard Ron ask.

"Definitely not, Harry's never early. He must be in his room," Hermione answered back.

Harry sighed, prepared for the worst. "I'll be there in a second!" He wobbled over to his living room while putting on his shoes. Ron had already made himself at home on Harry's sofa, the only piece of furniture in the apartment aside from his bed. Hermione stood with her arms crossed, leaving Harry to wonder exactly what she disapproved of this time. 

"You know, usually people knock before coming in," he said, calling their attention to him. 

"Usually people lock their doors," Ron responded. "Got anything to eat? I'm starving. Someone"—he looked at Hermione—"woke me up an hour early to question you about something that is none of our business anyway—and didn’t let me have breakfast."

"I probably have some firewhisky in the refrigerator," Harry said.

Hermione lost her patience. "Okay, first of all, you cannot have alcohol for breakfast under any circumstance, Ronald. Especially not right before going to work, and especially not when your job requires you to be alert at all times."

"I didn't even say yes—"

"And secondly, it is absolutely our business when our friend, who we knew to be cracking under the pressure of a demanding period in his work life, is suddenly promoted to the second-highest position in the Ministry!" 

"‘Cracking under pressure'?" Harry questioned. 

"I still don't see how any of this has to do with us," Ron persisted with a seriousness usually reserved for times when he thought food was on the line. 

Harry, while annoyed at being ignored, reasoned that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with them. Why they didn't just call it quits and get married was beyond Harry.

"It has everything to do with us, Ron. We both know Harry hasn't been himself these past few weeks. Just look at what he's wearing! He's obviously being taken advantage of by the Minister and I happen to care about the well-being of my friends."

Ron whipped up from the sofa. Harry tried to intervene. "Guys, I'm fi—"

"See, Hermione?" Ron said, waving his arms in Harry's direction. "He was going to say he was fine. Because Harry's old enough to take care of himself and doesn't need you to hover over every little thing he does."

"I didn't mean—"

Hermione rolled her eyes, arms still crossed. "Oh, please, we both know he's only saying that because he thinks he can hide behind his problems. You aren't actually fine, are you, Harry?" she asked, her voice indicating that there was a right and wrong answer to this question.

Harry was silent, nervous about trying to speak. Both of them were looking at him expectantly. "Well, um…" he started, rubbing the back of his head. He disliked when they included him in their arguments; this time it seemed he was the centerpiece of it. Anything he said would offend at least one of them. "Look, this is probably just a mistake. I'm not exactly qualified for this job, I mean, look at me," he tried to lighten the mood. Ron's face was tense enough to tell Harry that he was trying to conceal a smile. 

"Are you sure you're in a good position to be negotiating this with the Minister, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I mean, didn't he hire you personally? After the first day of meeting you, at that."

Harry wondered how she knew all this. Did Sirius tell her? Did they get together at the end of the day to gossip about him, or was Harry just being incredibly conceited? 

"He's not all-powerful, Hermione, he can't force me to work for him." Harry wasn't sure he believed himself. "In fact, I won't have anything to do with the guy anymore. I'll just tell Percy to clear things up without me and be back at my old job in no time. Before I can mess any important Ministry things up, at least."

Ron's horribly concealed smile became a grimace. "About that." He shifted in his place. "I'd steer clear of Percy if I were you."

* * *

Despite what Ron said, Harry felt that trying his luck with Percy, and subsequently prolonging his meeting with Riddle, was the responsible and mature course of action to take. So there he was, in front of Percy's office, ridiculously clad and wary of Riddle approaching. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

“Who is it?” Percy asked.

 _Here it goes._ “It’s me. Harry.”

He heard shuffling and moving furniture from inside the room. Then someone, probably Percy, cleared their throat. "Come in." Harry popped his head through the door first, making sure he wasn’t going to be hit by anything. When nothing happened he slid into the room, making sure the door closed softly behind him. He looked at the Junior Under-Secretary. Percy sat at his desk, his left leg shaking. His usually immaculate hair was almost as bad as Harry’s and his eyes had dark bags under them.

“Uh…” Harry said. “Hullo.”

“What do you want, Potter?” Percy snarled. “Here to gloat?”

“Um…no? I just”—this was going to sound horrible—“need your help with something.” Wow, smooth, Harry, very smooth. He should’ve at least apologized first.

Percy laughed in a way that resembled crying. “Well, apparently that’s what I do now. Is this your idea of thanking me, Harry? I warn you about the Minister’s arrival and you pull the rug right out from under me? Well there’s no need to ask for my help; I work for you now.”

Harry wasn’t going to point out that he hadn’t asked anyway. “Look,” Harry said, stepping away from the door and closer to Percy’s desk. “I didn’t do this on purpose. We both know you’re more qualified for this job than I could ever be.” Percy nodded in agreement, glaring at him. “So how about you go talk to Riddle and tell him I’m not fit for this and that you’d be happy to take over. He’ll say yes and everything will go back to how it should be.”

Percy twirled his pen, appearing to be thinking over Harry’s plan. Harry supposed this was a good thing, but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease he had around the whole Riddle fiasco. His stomach collapsed in on itself at the mere thought of the Minister. Maybe that was why he wanted Percy to confront him. Finally, Percy let go of the pen and gave his answer. 

“No.” 

Harry, about to slip into gratitude, realized what had been said. He pulled on his coat, waiting for an explanation he could argue against. It didn’t come. “Why not?” Percy didn’t answer. “Are you worried he won’t believe you? I’ll be there to vouch for you if you want, as long as you do most of the talking.” _And I don’t have to face the killer._ Harry was ready to compromise. He was ready to do almost anything to get out of this.

Percy smoothed out his hair and straightened his clothes. “No, no. Really, I don’t care too much. Riddle obviously thinks you’d be best for the job, who am I to question him?” Percy nodded to himself, smiling as if he had dodged a bludger he didn’t even know was there. Then he looked at Harry. “Hm? Oh, you can go now, Harry. Unless you want to give me an assignment, first?” Then he laughed and escorted Harry out.

Standing outside of Percy’s door, Harry thought that perhaps he should get mad and demand Percy follow some kind of stupid order, like washing all the windows. Instead, Harry made his way to Riddle’s office, silently accepting his fate.

* * *

“Mr. Potter, you’re late,” Riddle said from his desk on the other side of the long room. Harry walked further towards him to be sure of it. Brown eyes. He’d have to look into that; people’s eyes didn’t just change color, no matter how weird the light was. Especially not from brown to red. “Not exactly a dazzling start to your new job.”

“You really think so? I mean, ‘dazzling’ was kinda what I was going for here,” Harry shot back. Riddle appraised him, clearly not amused. “And anyway, this will have to be the first and last day of the job. I’m taking an early resignation.”

“You look ridiculous,” Riddle said, ignoring Harry’s words. “I don’t know why you always insist on making a fool of yourself, Mr. Potter.”

Harry scowled. “That’s pretty bold of you to say, considering you only met me yesterday. Did you have your little terrorist group look into me? I’m flattered, really.”

“You had no qualms finding out all you could about my habits, yesterday.” The message was clear: You started this, I’m only playing along. Riddle still wasn’t openly denying his accusations, though. Harry considered that a victory.

“Whatever. Just give me my job back and I’ll leave you alone.” Harry hoped he wasn’t coming off as placid, but he couldn’t afford to do this much longer.

Riddle walked to the filing cabinets, brushing past Harry. “Most people would be grateful for a promotion. Especially someone with your background. Then again, it is a very peculiar case.” Riddle unlocked one of the cabinets and searched through the documents, completely ignoring Harry in his quest.

“Hey,” Of all things Harry thought would happen in this meeting, actively trying to get Riddle’s attention was not one of them. “You know, you’re being very rude. The tabloids always go on and on about how polite the Minister is. I guess you’ve got the press infiltrated too, huh?”

“No, you’ve just been reading too much Witch Weekly. Ah, there we go.” Riddle pulled out a fairly thin file and went back to his desk, motioning for Harry to sit down. He placed the file on the table between them. “I do admit you caught me off guard with your accusations last time. Let’s see how you handle being on the other side of the desk, Mr. Potter. Born in 1981. Son of the late Lily and James Potter. Godchild of Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom.”

“Is this really—”

“ _Silence_. On the deaths of Lily and James Potter, the explanation given is a… car crash.” Riddle looked up at Harry’s infuriated eyes. “I find that extremely difficult to believe. Both the fact that they died from something so mundane and that there was so little coverage of it. Not only that, but it took six years for Black to extract you from your muggle relatives. Fascinating mystery, isn’t it?”

“Not really, no,” he replied.

Riddle carried on. “One of Black’s arguments for your removal was abuse. You must despise them for what they did.” 

Harry sat still. _He means the Dursleys_. Riddle looked at him, eyes brown and full of understanding. Harry wondered why Riddle was particularly responsive to the topic of hatred. He realized that he was answering his own question. Repulsed, Harry shook his head.

“Do you have one on everyone who works here?” he asked, referring to the files.

Dissatisfied with the effect of his pronouncements, Riddle frowned before answering. “I only read the ones worth knowing. I thought you might appreciate it. You strike me as someone who likes knowing about people.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Harry grinned. Then he cleared his throat and hastily went back to his dignified scowls. “Back to the topic at hand, when can I get back to the Obliviator Headquarters?”

Riddle leaned on the desk, bent forward. His hands were folded under his chin. Harry resisted the urge to pull away from his gaze. “You can go back anytime you wish. You didn’t think I was going to keep you captive, did you?” Riddle said.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Riddle was watching Harry far too intently. His hands clenched inside his lime green coat. Riddle probably somehow knew that, too. “Please, you probably go around torturing Muggles when no one’s looking. I think it would be in my best interest to prepare for the worst.”

Riddle smiled like everything was going according to his plan and hummed in agreement. “Well then I’m fortunate that there are so many moments when no one’s looking. It would be annoyingly difficult to get away with anything if someone had their eye on me. Isn’t it great that you’re taking an early resignation? My little terrorist group and I can carry on doing what we please without a care in the world. Who knows, we may even be able to move past Muggles and start taking out the blood traitors as well.”

Harry _really_ hated him.

* * *

Harry went to the Lunch Hall. Because he was Senior Under-secretary now, his lunches corresponded with Ron and Hermione’s. They said the separate lunches were supposed to lighten the load on the House Elves, but since when did the Ministry care about other creatures? It was a clear distinction of classes within the Ministry, with the less important (usually Muggle-centric) jobs being served second.

Expecting to see Ron and Hermione, he was confused to see Ron and Pansy Parkinson, instead. Nevertheless, he sat down at the table with his lunch and talked to Ron about the latest Quidditch match. No, he couldn’t believe the Chudley Canons were cheated out of 10 points. Yes, tickets to the matches should be free for Aurors. Harry didn’t know what he thought about them changing their team colors to blue, but Ron was right to be angry.

After about ten minutes of this, he decided it was safe to ask about the missing Hermione without sounding like he cared too much about her absence, or that he cared too little about their conversation. 

“Her,” Ron scoffed, looking back and forth between Pansy and his lunchbox. “Who cares? Probably with Victor Krum inside a closet or empty room.” He blushed as Pansy brandished her wand. “Her loss. Who’d want to be in a room alone with Krum of all people?”

Pansy’s eyes darkened. She sat on top of the table, hand outstretched behind her and blew a lock of hair away from her eyes. “It’s usually just Ron and I, here. Sometimes Draco when he’s not picking a fight with someone or complaining about…well, about you.”

Harry almost spat out his Muggle soda. “Draco?” he said, his brows raised high. “Pansy was surprising enough—no offense, Pansy—but Draco? How haven’t I heard about this before?"

Ron gave Pansy an exasperated glare and rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Harry’s eye.

If you had asked Harry five minutes ago, he would’ve said that Draco and Ron were on worse terms than Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor themselves. It seemed he was wrong about that. It seemed he was wrong about a lot of things.

Of course, he knew (hoped) this was a ploy. Ron and Pansy seemed close, but he was sure Ron only initiated the relationship to make Hermione jealous. And then she retaliated with Victor Krum. He contemplated locking the two up and forcing them to come to terms with their feelings for each other. Maybe another time, but for now, Harry had bigger fish to fry. 

The Lunch Hall went silent. The constant mutterings and critiques of co-workers were now whispers. All eyes were on the entrance of the hall, where a tall, pale woman stood. Her dark hair was partially worn up, with bits of it flying out. Her eyes showed a permanent expression of surprise. 

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Even Harry, who usually stayed out of Ministry politics, knew all about her. She was Riddle’s right-hand woman. Anyone who questioned her, or Riddle, would be taken care of. It occurred to Harry that she was probably a perpetrator of the Minister’s crimes. He found himself only slightly more disgusted by her than he was before. 

Her footsteps echoed in the hall. Stretching her legs before the pounce. Harry smiled in anticipation. He wondered who the poor fool who annoyed her was. Someone tapped his shoulder, tearing his view from the approaching Lestrange. It was Pansy. 

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “You told Riddle you were resigning, right?” 

Harry furrowed his brows. What did that have to do with anything? “No, I chose not to in the end. Why?” 

She looked at the floor, her bangs covering her face. Her body shook with poorly suppressed laughter. The grip she had on his shoulder tightened. “You…you are such an idiot.” 

Harry’s confusion didn’t last long. Not when a woman’s hand clutched his tie and pulled him out of his seat. And poor, dull Harry had to be cursed by the witch to remember. Bellatrix Lestrange could only bully everyone because she was Minister Riddle’s former Senior Under-Secretary. Harry was so screwed. 

Spell after spell, Lestrange let her anger be known. Where was the Minister the one time you needed him?

“ _Alarte Ascendare!_ ”

“ _Confringo!_ ”

“ _Expulso!_ ”

One after the other, Harry dodged them. The crowd around them laid the boundaries of the arena, urging the fight to continue. Harry thought, like he had many times before, that if this was a Muggle government, they would have called the police. It was terrible when Harry realized that this was the police.

“Augh! Die! Die! Die!” Lestrange cried, with sparks coming out of the wand she was waving. “ _Incendio!_ ”

“ _Aguamenti!_ ” he fired back, looking around to make sure the fire hadn’t gone out of control. He found no fire, but a cheering crowd. Harry growled. He had to put an end to this before things got out of hand. Think, think, he had to think. “Acciopens.” He summoned all the pens he could, levitating them between him and Lestrange. Together, they were the size of five disco balls.

She looked at them, confused. “You think these will protect you, little boy?” she cackled and was about to begin a new spell.

Before she could, Harry shouted, “ _Reducto!_ ” destroying all the pens. Quickly, he covered his eyes from the ink. Everyone else got eye-fulls (and everything-else-fulls) of ink. Before Lestrange could regain any of her senses, he fired “ _Expelliarmus!_!” and disarmed her, taking the wand for himself. 

It took a good minute, but once everyone gathered their wits, they erupted into cheers of congratulations. “All right, all right,” Ron said, distancing the crowd from Harry, “Nothing to see here. Everyone go back to your daily business of not being as awesome as my friend, Harry Potter.”

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry said, trying to put his hands in his pockets. “Ew, there’s ink _inside_ this thing. I’ll have to do laundry!”

“You and everyone else here,” Ron replied.

Pansy approached them, wheezing. “Brilliant. Absolutely Brilliant. I thought for sure you’d die back there.”

“Gee, thanks,” Harry said. “I don’t think the Minister will think it was all that great.”

“Pfft, it’ll be fine. Look, he’s already blowing off his steam telling Lestrange what he thinks. By the time he gets to you, he’ll have cooled down.”

“I sincerely doubt—wait, what?” Harry turned to where Ron was looking and sure enough, there was the Minister, looking furious. Harry couldn’t make out his eyes enough to see what color they were. 

Pansy calmed down from her laughter but was still smiling widely. “Have fun explaining this, Senior Under-Secretary. Don’t slip on your way there!” 

Harry glared at her, but followed her advice and took care not to slip as he made his way over to the fuming Minister. Bellatrix was still there, her shoulders slumped and her countenance a lot less intimidating than before. Riddle looked at her expectantly. 

“Do I have to, my Lord?” she said. Riddle didn’t respond. “Potter, I didn’t know you had joined us. Sorry.” 

“Uh…” Harry said, handing over her wand. He wasn’t willing to forgive her just yet. 

“Go,” Riddle ordered. She grabbed the wand out of Harry’s hand and scurried off back to where she came from. Once they were sure the House Elves could handle cleaning the Lunch Hall, Harry and Riddle followed suit. 

“‘Joined you’?” Harry asked as they made their way to Riddle’s office.

“A necessary lie. Though, hopefully it won’t be a lie for too long.” Riddle glanced at Harry.

Harry snorted. “Not in a million years, Riddle.” Then he looked back. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“Not anymore.”

“Yes, you are. Your eyes, they’re still red.”

Riddle stopped in his tracks. Harry cursed, he shouldn’t have said anything. “Is that supposed to mean something, Potter?”

“Well, they’re usually only red when you’re angry. Sure, I haven’t known you for too long, but they do kind of, stand out, you know?”

“I don’t. It would make sense, though.” Harry examined him, trying to understand.

“I’ll figure you out, someday,” he said.

“I don’t doubt you will. As long as the information goes both ways.” Riddle calmed down enough to resume walking. Harry hoped he wasn’t being serious. He’d rather keep his secrets than figure out someone else’s. They reached the door. 

“Be here on time tomorrow, Mr. Potter. We’ll be leaving early,” Riddle said, opening the door and walking in. 

“Where to?” Harry asked. 

“Hogwarts. I have a meeting with Dumbledore. You know him, I presume.”

Harry sighed, looking at his ruined clothes. “In a sense.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I hated to end it like that. But the Dumbledore meeting will have to wait. What'd you guys think?


End file.
